ANDY'S BRAVE DEED.

"A rthur! Arthur!" Kitty called, as she ran down the garden path.

Her brother was lying under the beech-trees at the foot of the garden. A copy-book lay on the grass before him, in which he was writing with a pencil. Arthur wrote poems, and histories, and tragedies, which he and his companions acted for the edification of their relations and friends. At this moment he was composing a story which he intended should be very thrilling. He had only got as far as the two first sentences.

"Charles was determined to have some adventures. So he went into a wood and met a tiger."

At this point he heard his sister calling to him.

"What is it, Kitty? I wish you wouldn't interrupt me just now. I'm very, very busy."

"Oh, Arthur, I wish you would come and see a little boy who's at the gate. He looks so hungry."

Arthur rose somewhat slowly, and went to the boy. Like all authors, he didn't much like being called away in the full swing of literary production. He proceeded to a little side gate which opened on to the highway and the open fields beyond. Here Arthur found a boy about a year younger than himself, bareheaded and barefooted, without a coat, and with a very worn and ragged shirt and trousers. The little fellow looked both tired and hungry, and his wearied look would have touched harder hearts than those of Arthur and Kitty.

"Are you hungry?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, vera. I've no had onything sin' yesterday."

"I'm sure he's telling the truth. You have only to look at him," said Kitty, who now joined him.

"Well, we might get him something to eat, anyhow. You stay there, boy, till we come back."

Arthur and Kitty went into the house together, and presently returned with a very large slice of bread, a piece of cheese to correspond, and a bit of cold pudding, that would have alone satisfied the appetites of two ordinary boys, even though extraordinarily hungry. It was as much as the lad could do to hold them all, and he thanked his young benefactors more by looks than words.

On the following morning, shortly after breakfast, Arthur's mother said—

"I should like you to take something for me to Mrs. Stewart's to-day, Arthur. There are several things I should like to send her. I have a small cheese and a pot of currant jelly that can go. Then I want her to have one of those young Dorking hens your father got the other day. I'll give you a small basket for that."

Mrs. Stewart was a very old friend of the family, having been the nurse of Arthur and Kitty, and of their mother before them.

Arthur set out with his leather bag strapped across his back, and the basket containing a little Dorking hen in his hand. Presently he became aware how hot it was getting, and when he reached a small clump of trees near a hay-field he thought he would sit down and rest a while. He had been walking about an hour by this time. He thought he never recollected such a warm day. Arthur began to feel very sleepy. He rubbed his eyes to keep himself awake, but his head nodded more and more, and before he was well aware of it he was fast asleep, lying huddled together on the bank on which he had sat down.

Arthur must have been asleep nearly an hour, when he awoke with a sudden start. The sun was high up in the heavens, and he judged it to be nearly midday. He got upon his feet hurriedly and caught up his basket. It felt lighter, he thought, and hastily lifting the wicker lid he found that it was empty. The little Dorking hen was gone!

Astonishment was the first feeling in Arthur's mind, then perplexity and mortification. What would his mother think of his carelessness and unbusinesslike qualities. It seemed he could not be trusted to execute this simplest message. What was he to do? He searched all the ground in the immediate neighbourhood in the hope of discovering the little hen hidden behind some bush or clump of ferns. But she was nowhere to be seen, and he was in sore perplexity and chagrin.

Then he picked up his empty basket, and continued on his way. There was nothing for it but to take the cheese and the pot of jelly to Mrs. Stewart, explain matters to her, and return another day with another hen, if his mother so decided, as it was probable she would. He walked on with a pretty downcast heart.

"the little fellow looked both tired and hungry" (p.147).

He was now ascending a hill, and when he reached the top an unexpected sight met his eyes. A crowd of people were gathered in the plain below. They made a large circle, and it was evident that the attention of everybody forming the circle was concentrated on what was going on within it. Flags were flying, and the strains of a military band floated up to Arthur, where he stood on the top of the hill. On the outskirts of the crowd a number of carriages and other vehicles were standing, filled with ladies and gentlemen.

Then Arthur recollected that this was the day of the Highland gathering of the county. A dance was going on as he approached, and four tall and stalwart Highlanders in complete national costumes, bonneted and kilted, were leaping and wheeling, cracking their fingers and uttering shrill cries as they danced with astonishing vigour and adroitness on a raised wooden platform.

But Arthur's attention had hardly been turned upon the dancers when it was diverted in another direction. What should he catch sight of, a good deal to his astonishment, but his little Dorking hen stepping quietly about among the people, unconcerned and unmoved by the stir and the bustle, paying heed to nobody, and no one giving heed to it.

At the moment Arthur caught sight of his truant hen, it was passing under a carriage, quietly pecking among the grass and ferns in its march. So he approached, and cautiously bent down on his hands and knees to get at the hen. It was almost within his grasp when a sharp report rang through the air—a rifle-discharge, the signal for a foot-race to begin. The next moment he felt a heavy blow on his shoulder, which knocked him flat upon his back. A mist rose up before his eyes, in which the whole world around him seemed to float for a moment; then he felt himself being dragged suddenly and forcibly backward, and then he knew no more.

Arthur had gone off in a faint; but it only lasted a few moments. When he came to himself, he beheld a little crowd of people gathered round him, and a man was bending down and bathing his forehead with a wet handkerchief. Then he saw another figure stretched on the ground at his side, quite motionless and silent. It was the form of a boy; the face was turned upwards, and to his great astonishment Arthur found that it was the poor lad to whom he and his sister had given the food on the previous day.

"I saw the whole thing. It was all over in a twinkling," a gentleman was saying. "The boy was bending under the carriage reaching forwards to secure the bird. At that moment the gun went off, the horses started forward, and the wheel came against the boy, and knocked him backward. Just then this poor little fellow rushed forward right among the wheels of the carriage, caught the boy, and dragged him out, but not in time to save himself. The wheel passed over his leg, and I am afraid it is badly hurt."

By this time Arthur was on his feet.

"Oh! he is not dead, Dr. Bruce, is he?" he asked of the gentleman, who was busy examining the boy, and whom he knew quite well as the doctor of the district.

"No, not so bad as that, I hope; but a rather bad break, I am afraid. It was a close shave for you, laddie. But for this brave boy the carriage-wheel would have passed right over you."

"What are you going to do with the poor boy, doctor? Do you know who he is, or anything about him?" a lady asked, whom Arthur recognised as Lady Elmslie.

"No, I never saw him before. But we must get him to Redloaning as quickly as possible, and have him taken to some cottage."

"See that he has everything that is necessary, doctor; and send up to Inverweir, if you can't get all you require in the village," Lady Elmslie said. It was her horses that had started forward at the discharge of the gun, and had been the cause of the accident.

"arthur began to feel very sleepy" (p.148).

A man now stepped forward, and said, "Ye'll just let me carry the laddie to the village, doctor. I'll start the noo, and I'll carry him easier like than any kind o' trap, ye ken."

"A good idea, Stoddart. Lift him gently."

"I'll do that. He's a bit hero, puir laddie; an' we mauna let him dee for his brave deed."

Stoddart lifted the still unconscious boy in his strong arms like an infant, and starting off carried him in the direction of Redloaning.

"Take him to Mrs. Aikman's cottage, and I'll be there as soon as you," the doctor said. In a few minutes he mounted his horse and followed in the same direction.

Meanwhile Arthur stood by hearing all that was said with anxious interest. Though not much hurt, he was a good deal shaken, and was still trembling from head to foot.

"Are you sure you are not hurt too, Arthur Dalrymple?" Lady Elmslie asked, looking into the boy's white and startled face.

"Oh, no, I'm not hurt; but that poor boy, Lady Elmslie, will he be all right again soon?"

"I hope so. We will do all we can for him. Don't you know anything about him, either? But stop! Get up here beside me and I'll drive you home; and you can tell me all you know about it."

Arthur got into the carriage. He rapidly decided that he would return home at once, and give up all thoughts of going to Mrs. Stewart's to-day. On the way home he told Lady Elmslie as briefly as possible all he knew about the little boy who had been the means of saving probably his life.

Lady Elmslie set Arthur down at the garden gate, but did not go with him into the house. Then Arthur had to recount to his father, his mother, and Kitty all the morning's adventures in detail, which he did in a somewhat excited manner.

"I shall walk over to Redloaning and see how the poor boy is doing this evening," Mr. Dalrymple said.

Mr. Dalrymple, much to his relief, found that the boy, his son's preserver, was progressing as favourably as the case permitted. The poor boy was manifestly suffering much pain, but he made no complaint or murmur. He was able to tell his simple story.

On the previous day when he had first seen Arthur and his sister, he had been on his way to Redloaning from the neighbouring village of Westburn, to see if he could get any kind of light employment in the former place. His mother was dead, and his father had lately enlisted in the army, leaving his boy to his own fate and fortunes. He had succeeded in obtaining a situation in Redloaning as a message-boy, but the place would not be vacant for a few days. So after passing a night in the village he was returning next day to Westburn, to remain there until he could enter upon his new duties. He was attracted by the show and stir and bravery of the games, and, like Arthur, lingered a while to watch the gay on-goings.

"stoddart ... carried him" (p.149).

There he saw his young benefactor of the previous day before the latter saw him. The kindness and generosity of Arthur and his sister were yet fresh in his heart; the moment came when he saw an opportunity of repaying those kind offices, and I have tried to show you how he seized and used it.

Andy received the tenderest nursing, and more kindness and gentleness, probably, were compressed into the weeks he lay in bed than had fallen to his lot during the whole of his previous life.

"Arthur," Kitty said, on the first day that her brother and she saw Andy, "hasn't it all been strange about Andy and you?" Then a funny little smile came into her eyes, and she added, "You see, Arthur, Charles was determined to have some adventures, as you wrote; but it was you who got them. By-the-bye, you never told us what became of the little hen."

"I can't tell you. I never saw it again. I don't think it was hurt by the carriage, and it may be wandering about the hill-side still, and perhaps it may wander back home again."

Andy's progress towards complete recovery from his hurt was slow and at times painful. But at last he did get well and strong again. When he was quite able for work, instead of taking the situation at Redloaning, which had been long since filled up, he went into Mrs. Dalrymple's service as assistant to the gardeners at Fircroft, a post he was still filling with much success and credit when I last heard of him.

Robert Richardson